Soul Meets Body
by Anti-canon
Summary: Modern AU. Marcus has never had a very high opinion of tattoos, but when he accompanies Cottia to her appointments with an underground famous artist named Esca, that quickly begins to change.


**A/N: This was originally written and posted over on The Eagle Kink at LJ, so I'd like to blame the abruptness of it on that, but let's all be truthful, that's just the way that I write. :P In any case, I had fun doing it and am definitely excited to find another to start working on. There's porny bits I wrote as an epilogue on the original post, but I left them off here just because I dunno why. Erm... so ya. Please leave some reviews and lemme know what you thought- I LOVE to hear from you guys. Sorry for spamming the everbody btw, but I've had A LOT of free time lately and actually have been motivated to get things done, so yay! **

Marcus stands just outside the doors to the local tattoo parlor, shifting his weight from foot to foot, unable to decide whether he's ready to enter yet. He had never thought that he would have to enter a place such as this in his lifetime- finding tattoos garish, and ultimately something that most people came to regret- he was only here because Cottia had practically begged him to stay with her during each of the five two-hours sessions it would take to complete the piece she had selected to have inked across her back.

He took a calming breath and squared his shoulders before pulling on the heavy glass door and stepping inside, deciding it was best not to stay in the street too long (this area was pretty sketchy and he had no desire to get caught up in a bad situation.) He was genuinely surprised when he finally took notice of the tidy, brightly lit studio. The intricate, antique chandelier hung in the center of the room seemed to set the tone for the rest of the decorum, making the parlor look more like and old-fashioned library than anything else.

Eyes wide, and admittedly a little speechless, Marcus sat in one of the leather chairs in the corner of the waiting room and let his gaze roam along the walls where various pieces of art were framed and hung. The works held him, enraptured by the intense blues, greens, and greys that seemed a constant throughout.

Without really knowing how much time had passed, Marcus suddenly realized that there was someone standing in front of him, foot tapping, an expectant look on their face. Marcus shook his head a little and cleared his throat, a blush staining his cheeks as he took in the small, young man waiting patiently in front of him.

He wore tight jeans and a white wife-beater which showed off the blue band of ink that encircled the upper portion of his right arm and the complimentary whorls placed just below the center of his pronounced clavicles. A grey-green scally cap was squashed low over his brow, wild tufts of tawny hair poking out the sides; and as the man lifted his head Marcus could see how the hat brought out the bright flecks of color in the irises that were hidden behind a pair of thick, black frames.

A wicked grin tore at the stranger's originally impassive face and his stance suddenly became oddly predatory. "Oh please, please tell me you're my two o' clock." A faint accent put a lilt to his words and had a shiver running up Marcus' spine. He took a step closer and his grin widened, "Skin like that is just begging to be marked."

Marcus' mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to regain some semblance of control. As he continued to fumble over his own words, he was finally rescued when Cottia burst in through the door, immediately grabbing the attention of the room as usual. Her face lit up as she took in the two of them and rushed to their side. "I see you've already met the Lupino!" she offered Marcus a small smile before turning to fawn over the man in front of him, who seemed to be shying away at the mention of the nickname.

"You can just call me Esca." he offered up as his mood changed quite inexplicably. He turned his back on the two of them and stalked to the back of the store where each artist had their own station, beckoning the two of them back with a wave of his hand. Marcus and Cottia shared an exasperated look before following him back.

* * *

><p>Two hours of uncomfortable, stony silence later and the outline of her back piece was done. Even though he was reluctant to admit it, the piece was already flawless and beautiful. He could tell how seriously Esca took his work, a steely focus shining in his eyes and an envious level of calm steadied his hands. The man truly was an artist in every sense of the word and suddenly Marcus found himself eager to get back to the store and watch him work again.<p>

* * *

><p>Marcus thinks he should feel a little ashamed at how excited he is to be walking back along the sketchy route to Esca's tattoo parlor a week after their initial meeting. If he had even an ounce less pride, he would have to say that he was giddy, strolling down the sidewalk with a bit of a skip in his step- for now the mangled muscle of his leg forgotten. It was a rare occurrence when he forgot about the injury so completely as to lose the limp that he usually carried, and he looked tall and proud like he hadn't for a long time.<p>

He was determined to make a better impression after the awkward tension of the first appointment. Esca's sudden mood swing still had him puzzled- he was certain that the young artist had been flirting with him at first- but then, without cause, he had mysteriously closed off. People generally couldn't help but open up around his sunny disposition and eagerness to impress and for reasons he couldn't yet explain, he wanted Esca to be one of those people. He wanted it more than he had wanted anything before, and for now that sent a wicked shot of adrenaline through his veins.

This time there is no hesitance as he enters the shop, pulling the door open smoothly and putting a bit of swagger in his step. He is accidentally-on purpose fifteen minutes early and carefully nonchalant about his dramatic entrance as all the heads in the room turn his way. His newfound confidence and the smirk on his face last all of thirty seconds before his eyes come to rest upon Esca- dressed to the nines. Marcus cannot suppress the whimper that blows past his lips as he takes in the other man, clothed in a pair of black slacks, a matching button down, and a trim, slate colored waistcoat. A sky blue tie changes his eyes from the emerald shades of last week to a stormy grey. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the only tattoo visible on his body today is the triskellion inked between his thumb and index finger on the topside of his right hand.

He looks surprisingly tame aside from the unkempt splay of his hair- turned bronze underneath the intensity of the chandelier's light. This time around Esca's greeting is coy instead of predatory and his demeanor is quiet, muted. The spark apparent between them is now a slow burn as opposed to the electric thrill of before and Marcus thinks this time he might get that spark to ignite. Everything feels smooth, right as they make their way towards each other- eyes intent across the room. Just as they are about to test out the taut, tense pull of the air Cottia bursts in, somehow just as early as Marcus.

* * *

><p>The next time Esca sees Marcus, the meeting is unexpected and he sincerely wishes that he had had the usual amount of time to prepare for the dizzying effect the other man seemed to have on him. He couldn't deny the raw attraction that leaped between them each time they met, but the more frightening aspect of their interactions was the undeniable chemistry that had him relaxed and comfortable around Marcus for no apparent reason. And if Esca were a different kind of person, he might have said that their connection was so strong it continued to bring them together outside of the safety of scheduled appointments.<p>

He was enjoying the free time his weekends afforded him- visiting the local dives for cheap food and accompanying shops for even cheaper wares. Most of what he bought were things he didn't need- shoddy keepsake boxes, household items turned makeshift jewelry, and random trinkets that cluttered every flat surface of his current apartment- but he loved to support up-and-coming artists and entrepreneurs like himself. It was just past the afternoon, an hour or so away from being classified as evening, when he decided to turn in- heading for home and the promise of low-rent sci-fi and an unhealthy amount of melty ice cream- when he spotted Marcus just the down the street.

The hulking man was impossible to miss- six feet of glistening muscle barreling down the sidewalk in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and running shoes. Esca couldn't help but gape as the other man spotted him and came trotting to his side, breathing heavy, legs clearly burning with overuse, but a pleased smile still splitting his face. His eyes roamed over the vast expanse of all that beautiful, unmarked olive skin, pulled tight over defined pecs, abs, arms, defined fucking_everything_. His fingers itched to trace over the smooth planes of it and he had to make a concerted effort not to groan as rivulets of sweat made lazy pathways from the damp of his hair all the way down to his waistline. "Are you entirely certain I couldn't ink _some_thing in for you? I wouldn't even dare to charge for a privilege such as that."

The words are out before he can even think to censor himself- never having cared for watching his words before- and the last thing he expects is to receive a bashful smile from Marcus in return. The large man looks a little comical, toeing at the ground, head bowed and posture sheepish. "You really think I could use a tattoo?" his question seems more curious than accusatory and for that reason Esca decides to give him a real answer as opposed to the sarcastic quips he usually proffers in similar situations.

"Everyone could use a tattoo, as long as they're getting it for the right reasons." he continues walking towards his apartment, abandoning the vulnerability of standing still for the strength of always moving- knowing that Marcus would follow without question. "They are a way to mark the changes in our lives- in ourselves- and let others know of it." he pauses for a moment to clarify, to gather the feelings he has always had and organize them into coherent words. "Your soul, your being is always changing, different from what it was just five minutes ago, but all your body ever does is age. There's really no better way to reflect those permanent changes on the inside. You brand them into your skin, and let the entire world know that you aren't what you were before and you never will be. You're something new, something different- hopefully something better." Esca grimaces at how ineloquent it sounded in his head, and turns to apologize, when he notices that Marcus has stopped in the middle of the sidewalk- traffic flowing around his form.

His face is pensive and darker then Esca has seen before, and for some reason that worries him.

* * *

><p>Esca told himself quite emphatically that he was <em>not<em> disappointed when Cottia's third appointment came by and Marcus was nowhere to be found. He most certainly had _not_ dressed his sharpest today and stood waiting at the front of the shop for a half hour before she arrived just to see him. Esca wore bow-ties and stood staring out his glass doors _all the time_.

He tried not to remain sullen and quiet for the two hours he had to work on her impressive back piece, letting the electric buzz of his machine fill his brain and push out the unpleasant thoughts that had begun to form. Though he would never admit to it, Esca had a habit out of mulling things over, turning them again and again in his head until it nearly drove him mad. Here, consumed in his work, he got to escape that. Etching the design into her skin with his kind of poetic reverence provided a calm he had not yet found anywhere else and he basked in the serenity of it.

He was often told that he should be more personable with his clients, get to know them a little, but the idle chatter was distracting and not really his style. An artist was wanted for their skill, not their people skills. Somehow, he thought that Cottia didn't really mind. She seemed content to prattle on with the idle people about the shop, and she had a habit of recounting many of his own past life experiences that had earned him his very own cult-following and the nickname 'lupino' that he supposed was to describe his often feral nature. It was a little disconcerting, but he offered his best smiles every time she glanced up over her shoulder and "hmm-ed" and "ahh-ed" at the appropriate times.

When the final layer for today was finally finished he sent her off with what he hoped was an encouraging nod and excused himself to the back of his shop. Behind a thick set of curtains the restrooms, a back entrance, and a broom closet were squirreled away from the public. He had converted the closet into an office of sorts by shoving a small drawing desk rather forcibly through the door and adding a small floor lamp in the corner. He came back here when the hustle and bustle of the shop and the outside world got to be too much too handle and he kept a square pillow inside for the all-too-occasional nap.

Right now the desk was littered with outlines of tattoos that he had been marking up all week. After seeing the gorgeous lines of Marcus' torso he had been taken with the need to fill up the spaces and he had secretly hoped he might be able to show them to the impressionable young man today. He had, in fact, cleared his whole schedule after Cottia's appointment on the off chance that they had got to talking. Perhaps they might discuss more personalized designs, lose track of time, decide to get a late lunch or early dinner... He scowled and crumpled the traces, throwing them to floor before resting his head on the pillow and deciding he might as well use the time and take a nap.

* * *

><p>Esca woke with a start when a loud crash and clatter burst into his senses. He growled and tried to blink the sleep from his eyes as he stumbled out of the broom closet. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he was fairly certain that it was dark out and whatever drunk ass-hat had decided to wake him up was sure as hell going to regret it. He threw open the lock and wrenched the door open as hard as he could, already glaring daggers and ready to chew out whoever stood in front of him- until he came upon the rather familiar face of one Marcus Aquila.<p>

The other man grinned like a fool and barreled into the store- seeming not to notice Esca's stunned silence. "Heyyyy! I knew joo'd be here!" the acrid burn of alcohol rolled off Marcus' tongue as he tripped over his own feet in his scramble to sit in one of the leather chairs in the waiting area. His next words were mumbled into his own chest as a frown worked its way over his features, brow furrowing and eyes narrowing. His hands seemed to be fumbling at his belt and that finally caught Esca's attention.

"What the _hell_do ya think you're doing?" Esca closed the doors hastily and went through the meticulous ritual of flipping the plethora of locks on the door in the right order, before turning back to Marcus.

Marcus' face turned comically serious as he gazed all around the room, raising his hands from his belt momentarily, "'Ish a tattoo shop right? Ah've been thinkin' all aboutchoo and I wanna get a tattoo." He nodded his head as if that completely resolved the matter and went back to his belt, finally managing to get it off with more brute force than anything else. "'An I have the perfick place for you ta put it."

Esca couldn't help the flush that crept up his neck as Marcus went back to lounging in the leather chair, legs spread obscenely and eyes hooded. His own fists clenched as he tried to decide whether he was more turned on or pissed off. "C'mooon." Marcus groaned and beckoned him forward. "We won't even hafta tell anyone. It won't mean anythin'!"

Esca's temper flared and suddenly he wasn't so torn anymore. He was _definitely_more pissed. "Get the hell out of my store!" With a strength that surprised even himself, he hauled Marcus onto this feet and began shoving. He paused for only a moment to unlock the door and throw Marcus his pants before taking his assault back up. "GET-OUT-GET-OUT-GET-OUUUT!" he emphasized each word with a vicious kick or punch to the solid wall of drunken man in front of him. It took a considerable amount of time and sapped all of his energy, but with one last, furious shove Marcus was out of the door with a genuinely confused look on his face.

After locking up for the _last_time tonight, pointedly ignoring the kicked puppy look that was coming through the glass, he made his way back to his "office" and slumped to the floor.

* * *

><p>Marcus has to admit that he is genuinely surprised to see Esca waiting calmly at his usual station a week later when he and Cottia next visit the shop. He isn't sure why he's surprised though. Esca is nothing if not hardworking and stubborn. This is his shop and Cottia is his client, Marcus should have no effect on any of that. All the same, he sucks in a sharp breath upon entering the store and seeing him perched on a stool near the back, expression stoic, back straight.<p>

Marcus has never exactly been the graceful or eloquent type before, but as he follows Cottia past the counter, closer and closer towards Esca he's suddenly hyper-aware of all of his limbs and all the strange expressions that can cross a person's face. _What the hell was he supposed to do with his hands?_ They're heavy and rather large and keep knocking things over. And _oh my god, since when were there so many positions to put his eyebrows in? _He can't keep the wretched things still as the attempt to crawl across his forehead. He feels like a lumbering giant as they finally reach the bench that Cottia will lay upon for the next two hours, Esca looking up to him only briefly, offering a curt nod in way of greeting.

He tries to open his mouth and give an apology, an explanation, say anything, but the sounds that tumble out make him sound as if his tongue has turned to mush. Esca's brow furrows and he looks at Cottia inquisitively, but she only chuckles and shrugs, a mischievous smile gracing her features. Marcus can feel his cheeks grow warm and as much as he'd like to try again, he's fairly certain the results would be the same. Instead he takes a seat and tries to tune out his thoughts as the low humm of the machine fills the room.

Cottia's piece is nearly finished now, only needing a bit of coloring and shading done. Everything is going according to schedule and her next appointment should be the last. Marcus is once again impressed with Esca's talent and work ethic and not for the first time he wonders what it would be like to be the one lying on the bench. He's seen the way Esca's fingers trace the muscle, ghosting over skin and leaving a permanent trail of ink behind. He leaves a mark on everyone he touches- one that'll last an eternity and it makes shivers crawl up Marcus' spine.

For weeks now he's been wanting Esca to make his claim, to leave his mark on Marcus too. He thinks that he could see the beauty in this form of art if only Esca would teach it to him. He would let Esca stain his skin in whatever way he sought fit- if only given the chance. A week ago he would've though the odds were in his favor, but now he's not so sure. Esca catches him staring as he looks up from wiping at the excess ink gathering around his needle, and for the first time since Marcus met him, he seems unsure. The look only lasts a moment before his head is once again bent, yes trained upon his work, but for that moment Marcus feels something that he's never felt before, at least not in this intensity.

* * *

><p>The day before Cottia's last appointment Marcus finally breaks down and finds himself confessing everything to her. The words spill out of his mouth, unable to keep everything in now that he's been given the opening. He tells her about their charged first meeting, the undeniable chemistry, the obvious attraction, and finally his big fuck up. The last piece takes a little coaxing as his throat constricts and his face burns with embarrassment. Getting drunk had seemed like <em>such <em>a good idea at the time, despite his own past experiences which clearly dictated that it never was. He knew that Cottia was an expert at relationships, and more specifically an expert on Esca himself. If there was going to be any chance for him to win back the other man's affections, she would be the one to know how.

A few hours, a handful of crumpled cash, and a not inconsiderable amount of frustration later he finds himself standing at the door to Esca's apartment, puzzle box filled with the fruits of his labor in hand. A sudden fit of panic grips at his heart and he feels as though he can't breathe- a cold sweat breaking across his brow and a cramp building in his thigh. He wipes his palms on his jeans and massages his leg for a moment, trying to get a hold of himself. He knows what he has to, and it should be easy enough, but it doesn't stop him from running through the plan over and over again in his head. In the end all he can do is pray that Cottia really is the genius he made her out to be. Taking a deep breath, he places the box on the floor, pressed up against the door jamb, before straightening back out. He lifts a slightly shaking hand to the door and knocks firmly.

Then he turns and runs for his life.

* * *

><p>Esca's scowling at the mass of dirty dishes piled in the sink, trying to find a spoon. It doesn't have to be sparkling or anything, just clean <em>enough<em> for him to eat with, seeing as how there's no utensils in the drawer and he's had to resort to pouring his cereal into a ceramic ash tray that he's _fairly _certain has never been used. Just as he's thinking logistically he doesn't even really need a spoon, a loud knock rattles the door and makes the prints hanging on the wall by obscenely over-sized nails shake. Curious, he puts down the ashtray, conundrum momentarily forgotten, and heads to peer out the peep hole. He can't see anyone standing outside, but he's not sure whether that's because no one's actually there, or because when he stands on his tip-toes to reach the peep hole it really distorts things.

Giving in, he pulls open the door and is confused when a small puzzle box tumbles into the room. He hesitates for only a moment before snatching it up and retreating into his apartment, giving the hall a quick once over before shutting the door behind him. His fingers fly across the cherry surface, deftly sliding pieces around, testing the patterns. His lips twist in concentration before breaking into a pleased smile. If you asked, he honestly couldn't tell you why, but he fucking loved these things. He's so consumed with the immediate need to find what's inside, (he can hear things clanking about in there) he can't be bothered to think about where or who it came from.

As things begin to click into place he works at an even more feverish pace, brow crinkling at the craftsmanship and skill that has clearly been put into this piece. The box is challenging, frustrating. He likes that. When the last panel slides into the right position with an infinitely pleasant *snick* he grins like a mad man. Now that he can finally open it, he's suddenly unsure. His fingers roam over the smooth wood, tracing the grooves that tangle in intricate celtic knots, nails clicking against the lacquered surface. He chews his bottom lip for a few moments before lifting the lid, slowly, revealing the contents at a painstaking pace.

Nestled inside, two hand carved totems lie side by side, the smell of fresh wood beginning to permeate the air in the immediate vicinity. Esca picks the first one up delicately. An eagle, wings spread, is roughly hewn from wood that is quite nearly still green. It's soft underneath his blunt nails and a bit damp. To those without a trained eye it would seem unfinished, but Esca can see that the ragged carving is a style- one that's greatly under-appreciated in his opinion. He runs his hands over it carefully, admiring the handiwork and reverence clear in its creation before reaching for the other figure. A wolf, head raised, howling at a moon that does not exist, is at once noble and sad. He continues to examine the two of them for near an hour, so engrossed in the mystery of it all that he almost misses the hand written note tucked in the corner of the box.

With a steadying breath his unfolds the bit of parchment that smells of old paper and new ink (much to his delight) and begins to read.

* * *

><p>To say that Marcus is apprehensive the next morning would be one of the greatest understatements of the year. He had hardly slept that night, and once the clock on his bedside table read six a.m. he decided that he should try and do something about the pit that had formed in his stomach. He shook the drowsiness from his body and readied himself for a run, thinking the pounding of his pulse in his ears and the decidedly resolute slap of his sneakers on the cement would be more than enough to drown out his thoughts of the ferocious artist that haunted every moment of his time- waking or otherwise. And at first it had, his body easily falling into the familiar patterns of his workout, but then that once comforting routine quickly became a problem. He could more or less run his route on auto-pilot, leaving his mind free and clear to wander to whatever topic it may. And at this point the only topic his mind was remotely interested in was Esca.<p>

He was back home in under two hours and stuck at square one. Marcus had absolutely no idea how to spend the remaining six before heading to the tattoo shop. He couldn't focus on anything as important as work, but nothing as mundane as reality tv (a guilty pleasure, he had to admit) could hold his interest. Breakfast didn't sit well on his stomach and for the first time he could remember there was leftover bacon to be put in the fridge. After ambling about the apartment, fiddling with anything that would occupy his mind for even the slightest amount of time, he found that three of those hours had passed before he just couldn't stand to be holed up in the small apartment anymore.

He grabbed a quick shower, cleaning more thoroughly than he had ever since he moved out of his uncle's home, and immediately froze in front of his closet. Never before had he cared much about what he wore, but now with the choice laid out before him, it suddenly seemed to be a very important matter. Black seemed fitting if Esca decided to kill him with his bare hands, which Marcus was quite confident he could, and that thought seemed a little... exhilarating despite the less than pleasant outcome. But, if he responded to the gift positively... Marcus shivers at the possibilities. He settles for something deceptively simple, a pair of dark jeans, white v-neck, and a muted green army jacket, but it's an outfit he knows produces "results". As he's leaving, he puts his earbuds in, ipod set to the playlist marked _Them's Fighting Words _and takes a a deep breath, gathering his strength for the storm.

* * *

><p>Esca has never been a nervous person and today, surely, should be no exception. He sleeps well, gets up at ten, as usual, and manages to find some cold pizza tucked somewhere in the depths of his fridge (filled mostly with nearly empty containers). Getting ready he pulls on last night's jeans and a tee with a tuxedo printed on the front. He makes his way to the door, grabbing his keys and wallet, stopping cold when he comes across the open puzzlebox. A million emotions run through him at once and he's not sure which ones to trust. He bites his lip, almost drawing blood and his hands make several aborted movements towards the totems lying inside. Growling and kicking the small coffee table in frustration he snatches the eagle and wedges it down inside his pocket, before he can change his mind. He makes a last minute decision, and goes back for a pair of suspenders he knows are somewhere in his closet, decidedly not thinking of the way Marcus' eye burned with desire when he had dressed up that second week.<p>

* * *

><p>Esca forces himself to focus at work, permanence being a pretty damn good motivator not to make mistakes in his profession. The humm of the machine just barely keeps him on track today and every time the door opens he can't help but look up, alternating between scowls and wry, hopeful smiles, not sure which one he's going to give Marcus just yet. In his time between clients, he can't help but finger at the shape of the bird in his pocket, the rough edges catching on the fabric and constantly reminding him of its presence.<p>

His skin itches at two draws closer and closer and he can't decide whether he wants Marcus to burst in early or not. Despite the everything raging around in his head, he sits quietly, hands busy with a pad of paper and a pen, doodling the same cartoons he used to when passing the time in school. Maybe his leg bounces a bit, maybe his eye twitches occasionally, and maybe his bottom lip has been chewed to pieces, but that doesn't mean shit. At one he decides he really needs a smoke and somehow that turns into a meatball sub from the shady deli across the street, which turns into a double-dipped cone from the street vendor, which turns into a cup of tea from the bakery to heat him up, which all turns into a fairly impressive amount of puke behind the shop when two comes rolling around if he does say so himself.

Rinsing his mouth out in the bathroom, splashing the cold spray on his face, and popping a few mints, he decides maybe, just maybe he's a tad nervous.

* * *

><p>Marcus tries his best to stroll in the doors, confident and at ease with himself, but the second he enters the shop, he's reminded of exactly what happened the last time he was here. It's not something he particularly likes to think about, having felt like a puppy who's piddled on the carpet under the intensity of Esca's stare last week. And while he has yet to spot the young artist yet, he already feels as though he should be apologizing profusely to everyone and anyone that will listen. His nerves are frayed and no matter how appreciative glances are thrown his way, or reassuring touches Cottia tries to give, it is no help.<p>

Seeing Esca come out through the back wearing, _oh christ,_wearing suspenders, and looking like sin in its most subtle albeit cunning of forms, does nothing to assuage the butterflies crashing around in his stomach. Marcus flexes his hands as he takes a seat in their usual corner and tries his best to look like he's not devoting the entirety of his attention to staring, watching Esca's every move as though it might help him guess the other man's intentions. His foot bounces nervously against the floor for several beats until Cottia throws him a withering look and mouths 'Cut it out!' and lays down on the bench.

The resounding slap of the rubber gloves Esca stretches over his hands with his back still turned, has Marcus second guessing how well thought out his original plan was. He prepares himself for another two hours of stony silence and cold stares, maybe even the sharp sting of having his gift given back. When Esca begins to turn, he braces himself, hands gripping his thighs tightly, palms sweating, teeth grit, and _oh!_.

Esca fidgets with his glasses for a moment, wry smile trying to hold back the coy smirk he's been dying to let loose ever since Marcus walked in the door. Unable to completely hold back, he concedes to biting his bottom lip and flushing a little as he comes to sit at the workbench. The large man seems to finally get the hint after staring at him dumbly for several seconds, and doesn't even try to mask the way he's grinning like a fool. Esca wants to be scowl at the presumptuous twinkle in his eyes, or at least scold him for licking his lips and wiggling his eyebrows, blatantly suggestive, like an overeager child. Somehow he finds himself feeding into it instead, sticking out his tongue and chuckling before settling in to work.

No words are exchanged between the two of them during the last session, just alluding looks and private smiles, but they both know where it's going after this. At the end of it, Cottia stands and proudly displays the phoenix rising out of the ashes that now covers the planes of her back. The whole thing seems rather ironic on a cosmic level and he knows it'll be an integral part in the retelling of this story later. Because somehow he just _knows_ that someday people will be asking after just how they met.


End file.
